Attention Seeking
by Peter Gilles
Summary: Set 6 months after Infinite Crisis. Gotham is missing Batman and Joker is missing him even more. What lengths will the Joker go to in order to get Batman's attention again? A black comedy - definitely not slash.
1. Chapter 1

_I don't own the Joker. He owns me. Please help me! DC can't be bother! AARGH! NO! Not the octopus joke!_

_

* * *

_Joker sat beside the campfire, thinking what he needed to do to get Batsy's attention again, absent-mindedly toasting eyeballs and marshmallows on a pointy stick over the fire. What was the word that his audience used sometimes? Deported? Depreciated? Depressed? Yes: he was depressed. He briefly looked at his munchies on a stick to check they were cooked enough (he didn't want to get food-poisoning or anything – not if Batsy wasn't going to send him a Get Well card) and then took a bite. Hmm. Just like M&Ms… the blue ones taste better. 

He sighed and fiddled with the personalised woggle for the neckerchief that he'd worn specially for this outing with the boy scouts. He needed to think of something big, something different. It would be the only way to get the Dork Knight's attention. Half a year now without Batsy. It was driving him …… aaaaargh! He just couldn't think straight when it was so damned quiet!

"HARLEY!!! HAAAARLEEEEEY!!!!! I want those boy scouts to scream louder! And in TUNE!"

He got back to trying to think. It was so hard to think on an empty stomach. He ate the other eyeball and chewed it for a while. It needed some jalapeño sauce. Cocking his head to one side, he listened out for his little boy scout choir.

"HARLEY!!! THEY'RE NOT SINGING SOPRANO!!!! How can they be proper boy scouts IF THEY'RE NOT HITTING THE HIGH NOTES?!!!!!"

The screams got louder and higher in the background, but it was too late. He'd lost his train of thought now… Ooooh! Trains!

* * *

TNT is just sadly under-rated by far too many people. Sure it was bulky to transport and you have to kill everyone who asks awkward questions about what you're doing with a few armfuls of the stuff as you buy the latest issue of _Good Housekeeper_; but it was always worth it in the end. The important thing is to watch enough Looney Tunes to learn how not to use it.

Anyway, after watching enough Looney Tunes, any God-fooling fella is going to feel rather antipathetic towards Martians and their silly helmets. Since everyone knew that the Martians could look like a normal Joe and normal Joes used the train to get to work, it was eminently sensible to blow up the train station before the Saturday cartoons could start and therefore defeat the Martian invaders and replace Christopher Lloyd. It was practically a public service to Gotham city. Maybe he would be even given the key to the city. That way he would be able to lock up everybody's doors safely at night away from those nasty glass Coke bottles. Or was it Pepsi bottles? A fella never quite knew which was being advertised by that juicy little pop-tart Britney – he always got distracted by her annoying voice. That's why he'd asked the Senate to outlaw her a few years back. Bah! Politicians! He should have just shot them and her in the back. Why couldn't all celebrities have a spectacular grin like him? Or Julia Roberts?

Hmm… He'd have to write that down on his etch-a-sketch for further puckish pondering.

He looked around the train station to see how far his plan had progressed since he'd last shot someone. Everyone was dancing the polka, just as he'd instructed them to, and his henchmen were just finishing the placement of the TNT on the railway line. Good.

He was about to turn away and get back to his important thinking (accompanied by musical screaming) when he heard the unmistakable thump and grunt of one of his henchmen being beaten up by a vigilante. At last!!!

He straightened his tie and did an experimental wiggle of his hips before he confronted Buttman.

"Batsy! Long time, no see! How's my favourite arch-" he trailed off when he saw who it was. It wasn't Batsy. It wasn't even one of his bat-flunkies. It was fking Toofers! This was unbearable!

"What the hell do you think you're doing, Toofers?"

"I'm stopping your sick plan, Joker," the black-clad buffoon growled as he made mincemeat of his henchmen.

"Stopping it?! Why? I NEED to stop the Martians so that Saturday cartoons will be safe for all of Sunday! Do you hear me? Sunday isn't safe anymore!" Joker ranted, "Who do you think you are? Only BATMAN is allowed to do this! He's the only one who went to gloomy-superhero school! Do you hear me? You're unqualified – I'm calling the union!"

Toofers had finished beating his acme henchmen to a bloody pulp and was now advancing on him. That turncoat! He'd stopped being fun ever since he'd had that elastic surgery on his face that made him ugly and justicey all over instead of only being half-justicey. Oooh! Apart from that time when Harv had got him uncommittedfied from Arkham that one time. Maybe that's what he was here to do?

Harv was now advancing towards him in a menacing fashion.

"If you're worried about my qualifications, I can assure you that I've been trained by Batman himself. Trained to take down psychos like you!"

He was too shocked to even defend himself properly – he was totally defenceless. All he could do to protect himself from Half-Rate Harvardy Harv was to stab him a little in the gut. But the only thanks he got in return was Harv breaking his wrist and putting a hot and sweaty hand around his throat.

"Urk! Careful Harv – I hope you've washed your hands first! HAHAHA!!!!"

Half-Cocked Harv looked kinda miffed. Actually he looked really miffed. He idly wondered if Harv was annoyed about not getting to come along to the scout camp Joker had invited himself to. He really shouldn't be upset by that: boy scouts these days just couldn't scream in tune anymore.

Harv, though, having no regard for his inner-monologue, tightened his grip on his throat and tried to do the growly, gravelly voice thing that vigilantes thought was cool. Either that or the mook needed a strepsil.

"Tell me, Joker. Tell me why I should listen to Batman and just throw you back inside Arkham. Tell me why I shouldn't end it right here and now! Why shouldn't I kill you?"

He made a show of thinking for a moment. There were all manner of reasons why he had to live. First of all, who else would be responsible for inventing new jello flavors like Sweet 'n' Cyanide? Secondly, he still hadn't had a chance to star in a brand new series of Mork and Mindy. Sure, they might be continuity problems since Robin Williams simply wasn't as uniquely good-looking as he was, but they could be easily remedied by him re-shooting the entire original series with him in the starring role again. And Mindy badly needed plastic surgery – she never smiled enough for his liking.

Harv was still impatiently waiting for an answer and he was still wondering where he'd put the camcorder after that delightful kindergarten outing to the piranha pool (sooner or later, the Discovery Channel would realise that his nature documentaries were far superior to their own and ask for him on bent and broken knees) when Harley interfered and hit Honky-Tonk Harv over the head with a baseball bat.

"Harley! Couldn't you see me and Hearty-Har-Har Harv were talking?"

The little bimbo's face went from looking as pleased as Punch to nearly bursting into tears. He loved doing that to her.

"I'm sorry Puddin', but he was talking about killing you and you're greatest clown in the whole-wide-world, the whole universe, even the whole of the back of funnies page of the - "

By this point, he had stopped paying attention to her and was now thinking again. How come Batsy was paying attention to Half-Baked Harv and not him? There had to be a connection… Oooh! Connect 4!

"Harley! Round up everyone I haven't killed yet and paint them either red or yellow! We're going to play board games in a big way! HAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!"

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_Please R&R, even if it's only to tell me how disturbed I am. I haven't finished with this story by any stretch of the imagination and I'll posting up a new chapter in the near future._


	2. Chapter 2

_Once again, its worth mentioning that I have no legal rights over the Joker or anything in DC. However, I also think it's worth mentioning that DC has no legal rights over the Joker either, since he is in fact actually running DC himself. Think about... it makes no sense whatsoever - that's how you know it's true! BWAHAHAHAHAHA[gets dragged away

* * *

_It turned out that in order to get some red and yellow paint; they'd have to traipse all across town to one of the new hardware stores. How inconvenient was that? Harley – being her stoopid self – suggested that they take the train since they were on a train station and all. The retarded bimbo! Had she learnt nothing about the Martians and Thomas the Tank Engine? That was why they had the dynamite and the krazy glue! Nothing could stop the awesome destructive power of krazy glue!

Well… maybe Andy Kaufman could – but NO-ONE ELSE! Not even silly string. He knew this because he'd tried so many times to hang those nuns with it and they just kept inconsiderately falling to their splattery splurgey deaths instead. It all worked out in the end, since it made it so much easier to make that holy-moly pate that he tried to sell the other month. And he got to lick that yummy I-can't-believe-it's-not-kosher blood off his hands for over a week. Mmm mmm mmm!

He stalked out of the station – he knew he'd be able to think more clearly if he was somewhere that he could possibly watch people get run over. They always did that funny face pulling just as they got hit.

Well, he'd just have to improvise. That's what artists like him did all the time when they didn't have the right materials to hand. He needed a hand – well all these fat Joes and Joettes had lots of flabby hands that'd be perfect for painting them with. And they were all filled to the brim with recyclable red paint too. Perfect! If only he knew where to get some yellow paint… maybe the Hal Jordan Fan Club knew where to find some? They must always be up for a spot of genocide, after all.

No, wait, those Green Flashlights DIDN'T like the colour yellow. Oh well, that just gave him even more reason to use it – just in case Batsy got given a whammy ring too. You just never know these days, with all of those goofy dimensional thingamajiggers popping up about the place earlier in the year. Or was that back in the 90s? Or was it the 80s? They all seemed so samey. He'd have to stop that immediately!

In the corner of his eye, he saw some brown-clothed buffoon robbing a yellow raincoat being worn by a pretty girl. How booooring. Who mugged people these days? Honestly! Oh, and rape too. But that was such a cliché as well.

Yes – YES! That was it! HE could stop this sameyness! This crime of normality! HE was the Clown Prince of Crime – so all crime must be clownish or not at all! Far too long he'd let these idiots go on, giving crime such a bad name. Robbing, raping, ransacking… what was another crime that began with an 'R'? Robins? Nah, they were fun to play with. Ranooking? Yes, that sounded good - ranooking was now a crime and he was going to stop it. He would become a caped crusader against these muggly mud-brained morons of Gotham City!

He turned and marched towards the dimwit, arming himself only with a laugh. Oh, and a hammer. BWAHAHAHAHAHAHAHhahahaha…hehheh, heh, heh, ha. Grrr! No more sameyness anymore! He would teach them how to smile.

He only hit the muppet a few times in the face with the hammer and he had the audacity to fall down without putting any effort into it at all. Even Batsy fell over in an amusing boingy rolling way. This guy just lay there moaning. Pfft.

Bowing graciously to the yellow raincoat, he then picked up the mook by the throat and dragged him to the ickle corner shop across the street. The chappie behind the till had the right idea – a smile on his face, backed up with a healthy dose of terror. Not the perfect smile, of course, but he'd admit that the Johnny foreigner was making the effort.

"A dozen bunches of your slipperiest bananas please, Johnny!" he pleasantly shouted at the fellow and the little man scurried off at top speed to fetch them. What good service here! He'd have to recommend this place down at the Iceberg. Speaking of down – he looked down at the retard he was still holding by the throat. He was kinda struggling now. Good. That meant he was ready for funniness training.

Johnny Foreigner turned up just on time and put the bananaramas on the counter. Good man! Good man! Maybe he could be his sidekick? No, wait, he had Harley for that. Well, mainly for the T&A – but she was house-trained and everything already. He mustn't get distracted though.

He plucked a few bananas from a bunch and dropped them on the floor in front of the idiot he was holding. Like he was training a hyena. Hmm… what would be a good name for a hyena? Bud and Lou were already taken. Something different. Ashata? Nah, sounded like he'd sneezed. Ooh – Dylan! Dylan was a good name for a trained hyena!

"Come on Dylan, come on! There's a good boy! Fall over! Step on the banana and fall over!"

He let go of Dylan's throat and gestured with the hammer. Dylan looked at him just like Bud used to during training (although he'd been properly equipped with a boxing glove shotgun back then) and slowly stood on the banana. And didn't fall over.

Rolling his eyes, he swiped at the back of Dylan's knee to help him along. The dipstick fell over, but he just wasn't selling it. It just wasn't funny. Hmmm… AHA! He had the solution!

Whilst Dylan was moaning on the floor again, he skipped around the shop trying to find what he was looking for. Sure enough, he found some kebab skewers. It only took him a few short minutes work with the skewers, his hammer and the bananas, and – despite Dylan being childishly stubborn about the whole thing – he had successfully skewered bananas to each of Dylan's feet.

Dragging Dylan to his feet by his throat again, he repeated his earlier command – "Come on boy, fall over! I know you can do it now – fall over Chaplin style!"

Dylan immediately collapsed with his legs crossing each other inwards and finally hit the floor nose first. Not exactly a Chaplin, but it was funny. He applauded Dylan, tossed a hundred at Johnny for the bananas and walked back to the alley with the yellow raincoat, laughing. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! His first case solved!

The ickle yellow raincoat was still there, huddled in corner, crying from the obvious shock of being subjected to such boredom. No matter, he'd saved the day for her. He just needed one thing…

"Ickle missy?" She looked up at him, equal parts fear and confusion, just like his first chemistry experiments. "Come on, ickle missy, turn that frown upside down. I've funnified him now – you'll never have to worry about boringness from him ever again."

Awww! She even kinda smiled. This new plan of his was really working – already more people were smiling for him. The world was going to be a happier, funnier place. But he still needed that one thing…

"You don't mind if I borrow your lovely yellow raincoat, do you? No? Trade maybe? I've got a gun here somewhere and I know I put a knife somewhere – oh wait, that's in Harvey – maybe some money?" She nodded, with a wonderful look of bewilderment on her face and then did that attempt-at-a-smile-thing again. Awww!

He swapped the yellow raincoat for his wallet (after taking out the business card of his local pogo-stick store) and tied the raincoats arms around his neck. Now he would be protected against Batsy if he had a whammy ring!

In fact… no, he had a new idea, a better idea! He had a yellow cape, a photogenic grin and he even had a mask somewhere so he could maintain his secret identity of the Joker when he was fighting boringness as The Joker. Gilliam's Balls, this was frigging perfect! The perfect way to bring back the Dark Ker-nigget! He would be his bestest ever brand new partner!

It was time to announce himself to Gotham City. "Beware, boring-doers!!! Beware, JOKER! THE CLOWN WONDER! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!! Now who can write a good theme tune?"

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_Once again, please R&R. Even flames are welcome, since I always enjoy a good laugh. Whilst this story is technically finished, I'm toying with writing some spin-offs from it - please tell me if you think that's a good idea or not._


End file.
